


Live for Ten

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Touch Not the Cat [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- GTA V, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Werecats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 15:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15294513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Ryan has a bad habit of wanting the things he can’t have.





	Live for Ten

“Aw, lookit the kitty, Michael!”

Ryan lets out a warning growl as Gavin peers under the tier racking Ryan hid under when he heard them enter the building while he was doing a little reconnaissance before the others arrived, but he’d miscalculated. 

He’d heard their car pull up outside, loud voices and footsteps and he thought he’d moved fast enough they hadn’t seen him when they came in, but apparently he was wrong about that too.

Gavin has a soft expression on his face as he coos at Ryan. The babbled nonsense spilling from his mouth miles away from the usual nonsense he tends spout. He’s keeping a respectful distance, careful to make himself appear as non-threatening as possible as he tries to coax Ryan out into the open thinking he’s got another Los Santos stray on his hands.

Which.

_No._

Ryan’s about the furthest thing from that, although telling Gavin that might not be the best idea. (If he was capable of human speech in this form, which he is most decidedly not.)

“Gavin.”

Ryan presses against the wall at his back when he hears Michael coming closer, sees his feet come into view.

He likes Michael, likes Gavin for that matter, but Michael’s mentioned his dislike for cats in the past and Ryan is - 

Careful. 

Ryan likes to think he knows Michael well enough to know he’s not a threat, but past experience with other humans that he’s at a distinct advantage right now. 

“The fuck are you doing, idiot? You know we’re meeting the Vagabond here, right?”

Ryan’s new enough to the crew that he hasn’t shared his name with them. Trusts them enough to agree to work with them, yes, but old habits die hard and he’d wanted to do a little reconnaissance, just in case. (Ryan likes to think he’s reasonably paranoid for someone in his line of work in a city like this, but the fact that he’s also a part-time cat tends to complicate matters a bit.)

He doubts the Fakes would react favorably to finding out about his condition, but everyone in Los Santos has their secrets. His just tends to be one most people would never guess at.

“Leave the fleabag alone, the Vagabond’s supposed to be here soon anyway. I thought you wanted to make a good impression on him? Something about finally wooing him to our side or some shit?”

Gavin blushes before he pushes himself to his feet, words of protest tripping out of his mouth as Michael _cackles_.

“Michael, no,” Gavin says, and there’s a sound like Gavin’s smacked his shoulder, and the chiding tone in his voice slips more towards amusement, laughter. “That’s not what I said, Michael!”

Michael’s still cackling, making no move to fend Gavin off, and curiosity gets the better of Ryan in spite of himself. Has him creeping forward to see what the two of them are up to.

Gavin’s smiling, this rueful thing as Michael grins at him, teasing and fond and both of them so very different from what the news makes them out to be. How the city sees them and the rest of the Fakes. Supposed ruthless, merciless criminals with no morals or ethics, hellbent on razing the city to the ground to hear the media tell it.

“But - “

Michael snorts and gives Gavin a gentle shove.

“If the stupid cat’s still hanging around after the meet, you can see if it’ll come out, but we’ve got business to deal with first.”

Gavin makes a noise of protest, but he follows Michael gamely enough over to the small table set up by the side door they’d come through earlier.

Ryan waits a little longer before creeping out from his hiding spot and making his way out of the warehouse through a broken window on the second floor. He’ll be fashionably late, but considering the circumstances, it can’t be helped.

========

For the most part Ryan can control the change, shift, from human to cat when he chooses, but when the moon hangs full and heavy in the night sky there’s a _tug_.

Everything so much sharper, clearer. Wrong in ways he can never seem to find the words to explain. 

This constant call in the back of his head to shed his human form and run, play – _hunt_ \- but he can put it off if he wants to. Shove that urge to the back of his mind and push on until the full moon passes and it’s easier to breathe around the weight pressing down on him.

Most of the time, though, there’s no real need to.

Not when he’s learned to be careful, had that lesson hammered home over the years after his own stupid decisions led him wrong time and again.

Los Santos makes for the best/worst playground for someone like him. So many places to explore and too much trouble to run into, but Ryan’s reasonably smart and just paranoid enough that he gets by perfectly fine most of the time.

He glances at the moon through his bedroom, pale light filtering down as that voice in his head starts up again, and smiles as he gives in.

Bones and muscle and skin shift, _change_ , and when he was new to this, young and scared and so very confused it hurt. Unchecked fire burning through him and utterly terrifying, but now?

It’s still like fire through his veins, but now it’s a steady, controlled burn as he goes from two feet to four, body rearranging itself bit by bit until everything around him comes into sharp focus. Mind adjusting to what his senses are telling it, how to move through the world in this form.

Ryan shakes himself, sense of excitement running through him as he jumps up on the windowsill, gentle breeze teasing his senses.

He makes for a large cat, pale blue eyes and sleek black fur with thin lines of white fur where his scars sit on his human body. 

His ears swivel when he catches sirens in the distance, voices down the hall. Nose catching scents his human form can’t, and thank God for that because this is Los Santos, after all. He can feel rough wood under his paws, slides his claws out, feels them catch on the grain as he draws them across the windowsill.

Another moment to consider his route for the night, and he’s gone, slithering through the window he’s cracked open and down the fire escape to disappear into the shadows.

Best/worst playground and Ryan’s feeling restless, itch under his skin and the whole night before him.

========

Ryan heard about the Fake AH Crew long before any of them approached him for a job. This crew looking to carve out a spot for themselves in a city like Los Santos.

Rumored to have ties to the Roosters, and that had been enough to get them noticed. Have others a little more willing to work with them out of fear of any retribution that might come their way if they didn’t. Too used to the way things went in this city to do anything but.

In time, though, they proved themselves to be a different kind of animal altogether. 

Fiercely loyal and stubborn to a fault. Certifiably insane, but in Los Santos that’s a pro and not a con, and either way Ryan found himself fitting in better than he’d expected to.

Because there was Gavin, and Michael and the way they slid so effortlessly into his life without him realizing it.

Gavin with his endless questions that seemed ridiculous on the face of things but if you took the time to parse them made a brilliant kind sense. His cheeky grin and sly little, “I wonder what would happen if...” questions that either ended in hilarity or disaster if not a combination of both.

The way he was just so easy to be around, contrary to what the others always claimed, Gavin laughing along with them because it was always meant fondly, affectionately.

Michael who was more reserved initially, guarded and distant. Chiming in once in a while but satisfied with keeping an eye on things until he was certain Ryan wasn’t some threat he had to guard against.

And then he was just there. Loud and brash and kind under it all, hiding it with his customary gruffness and flashes of temper used for show.

He’s gotten too close, forgotten what a mistake that is in this life because - 

“Ryan,” Gavin says, note of concern creeping in when Ryan doesn’t answer. “Ryan?”

Ryan pulls his attention away from where Michael’s talking to Geoff a few feet away. He’s favoring his side, knuckles scraped raw, and _angry_.

Gavin and Michael coming back from a meet and someone trying to grab Gavin with Geoff and Ryan halfway across the city when they got the call.

Members of B-Team are dealing with cleanup and everything’s under control, but - 

“You two are idiots,” Ryan sighs, looking at Gavin.

No prize winner himself today, with scrapes and bruises on his own face. Sunglasses shattered on the pavement somewhere behind them and a worried frown directed at Ryan.

“Oi!”

Ryan lets Gavin’s protests roll over him as he reaches out, thumb sweeping just under a cut that runs too damn close to his eye. A little higher and he might have lost it.

Gavin goes so very still at his touch, Ryan flinches away when he realizes what he’s doing. Goes to talk to Trevor, see if they need help with cleanup and ignores the looks Michael and Geoff give him as he passes.

========

Given his unique talents Ryan started out as a bit of a thief. 

No one thinks to blame the sweet little cat they’ve taken in if they happen to misplace a watch, a necklace. That pair of diamond earrings their husband gave them for their anniversary. No one looks sideways at a scruffy stray on the street they stopped to pet if their wallet goes missing.

Little things like that, taking advantage of human nature when presented with something like a cat, sweet face and oh so friendly, rubbing up against their legs. Meowing forlornly and batting at them for a quick scritch, just a little attention.

Over time he’d branched out. Realized just how easy it was to case a location as a cat, slipping through security and occasionally get an ear scritch or two along the way. Mapping out security camera locations and learning the patrol routes of the guards before coming back on two feet to liberate them of whatever valuables he had his eye on.

Due to...circumstances that had changed over time, and he went from being a (literal, and oh, how that still cracks him up) cat burglar to what he is now. 

Los Santos’ very own bogeyman and bit of an urban legend. Uncanny ability to pull off the what should be impossible feats. 

He still gets that itch sometimes, see if he’s lost his touch when it comes to slipping past whatever security measures other people have put in place. Harmless for the most part, but Ryan’s been known to make bad decisions from time to time.

Ryan could claim he’s just testing the penthouse security measures, seeing if it’s anywhere as impressive as he’s been led to believe, but after recent events, that’s stretching things even for him.

“Oh, hello then,” Gavin says, quiet surprise in his voice as Ryan pads up to him. "How’d you get in here?”

Ryan butts his head up against the hand Gavin holds out to him, aware of Michael watching from his place on the couch.

Both battered and bruised and this odd little restless itch under Ryan’s skin that led him here. 

“Isn’t he lovely, Michael?”

Ryan hops up on the couch and settles himself between them, taking far too many liberties he’d never dare to take in his human form, but - 

Michael huffs as Gavin gives him a beseeching look, and reaches out to pet Ryan. Too-light brush of his hands over Ryan’s ears, but the pressure is absolutely perfect when he scratches under Ryan’s chin. Draws an appreciative sound from him, gets him purring to Gavin’s delighted laugh and Michael’s quiet chuckle, eyes sliding shut in pleasure.

\- It’s not like either of them will ever know, so this is safe enough.

=======

Ryan has a bad habit of wanting things he can’t have.

As a kid, he wanted so desperately to be normal. (Or a flavor thereof.)

Didn’t want to know what it felt like when his body – skin and bone and flesh – shifted, _changed_ , contorted into a form it shouldn’t have been able to. Didn’t want to know what it felt like to run on four legs instead of two. Didn’t want to know what it felt like to feel so alone, the only one of his kind he’d ever known.

That had changed as he grew older, made a certain kind of peace with himself. Learned to appreciate the edge it gave him over other people. Use it to his advantage.

Now?

Well.

There’s Gavin, and Michael, and that same old bad habit of Ryan’s because - 

There’s _Gavin and Michael_ , and Ryan’s always wanted things he can’t have.

========

The gang that went after Gavin and Michael resurface a few weeks later during a heist. Wait until they’re making their getaway. Michael driving while Gavin and Ryan keep the cops off them, Geoff and the others with the money in a Cargobob Jack’s flying.

They manage to get through a coupe of roadblocks the cops have set up, but end up all but falling into the hands of the gang members when they takes a shortcut through an alley. Get blocked in and facing down armored figures holding mini-guns.

“The car’s got armor,” Michael murmurs, revving the engine. “We might get through.”

Ryan glances at Gavin, sees him watching the figures at the entrance of the alley.

Not scared, just.

Calculating. Thinking as he reloads his gun, hands sure and confident.

Michael’s a little roughed up, result of an encounter with a guard who’d changed up his patrol routine at the last minute. Split lip and bruising rising on his jaw, wild look in his eye because he’s wanted a re-match with this gang, wanted to repay them for their last little run-in, but this isn’t quite what he was picturing.

And Ryan - 

The full moon is days away and Ryan can feel that old familiar tug, that little weight in the back of his head pressing down.

Senses working overtime to the point he’s so very painfully aware of everything around him. 

Michael’s anger, neatly overlaying his fear because their odds of getting out of this are slim to none and the others are out of comm range. 

Just the three of them and these assholes, and as tempting as it is to trust to the car’s armor - 

“Don’t,” Gavin says, quiet, certain. “You haven’t fully upgraded the armor and those mini-guns will shred what little there is.”

 _And them_ , goes unspoken but understood.

“Gavin - “

“Look,” Gavin says, and Ryan turns sharply to him because for all that he sounds calm, rational, his heart-rate is kicking up, fear spiking. “They were after me last time, yeah? Said they needed a hacker, right?”

Michael growls at the reminder, hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“Gavin,” Ryan finds himself saying. Trying to reason with Gavin who is possibly one of the most unreasonable people Ryan’s ever met, his own heart-rate speeding up because _no_. “There’s no guarantee they won’t just kill all of us.”

No need to keep Michael and Ryan alive if they want Gavin. (A lie, but the reasons they’d be kept alive aren’t worth thinking about.)

“Ryan,” Gavin interrupts, and that’s his hand on Ryan’s face, light pressure through the mask. “We either try Michael's idea – which is terrible, by the way, Michael, no – or we give them what they want and bide our time.”

“ _Gavin_.”

Michael’s watching the two of them in the rearview. Face carefully blank save for the anger in his eyes, quiet, stubborn determination.

He knows the odds as well as any of them, knows that what Gavin’s saying tips them in their favor a sliver more, but - 

“It’ll be fine,” Gavin says, and the fucker _smiles_. “Trust me.”

(It would far easier to do that if Ryan couldn’t smell how terrified Gavin is, his hear heart racing in his chest.)

========

Living in Los Santos, doing what he does, Ryan knows human nature all too well.

Knows how dark, twisted, it can get once it heads down the wrong path, or maybe that was something he learned early on. Saw the people around him and all the ugly little things they said and did and knew, _knew_ what a mistake it would be to share his oldest secret.

Worked his whole life to keep that one hidden, so, so careful and meticulous not to let anyone know, see, and now - 

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Michael growls, viciously yanking at his chains bolted to the wall. 

There’s a couple of feet of play to them, just enough to let him move around a little. Thick metal links and heavy manacles around his wrist and how the hell these idiots found this place is beyond Ryan. It’s an old apartment building with what feels like an actual dungeon in its basement. Air vent towards the back of their little cell no larger than the breadth of his hand with a broken cover. Twisted and bent like the previous occupants had been a little optimistic about its potential.

“Yeah, well,” Ryan says, and tugs uselessly at his own chains. “Count me in on that one.”

They're locked down here, fucking chained like animals and it’s not helping that _pull_ in the back of Ryan’s mind. Restless at being bound like this, and he can feel how close to the surface the change is. 

“We fucked up,” Michael says, and he’s angry still, but there’s a note of something too close to defeat in his voice for Ryan’s peace of mind. “We shouldn’t have listened to him, you know that, right?”

Gavin’s usefulness to this little gang has an expiration date, and they’re no good to him down here.

Their guards too smart, or maybe just too careful, to give them an opening they can use to their advantage and time slipping away moment after moment after moment.

“We should have - “

“I need you not to freak out,” Ryan says, studying his manacles. Anything to keep from looking at Michael, see his reaction. “So. Don’t.”

Not the most eloquent thing he’s ever said, but there’s this old fear bubbling up in Ryan’s chest, of being seen for what he is. Something he’s never given much thought to other than _do not_ , held tight to him because he knows the darker side of human nature. 

Destroy what you don’t understand. Hate what’s different, and all of it fueled by fear because the two are so closely intertwined.

He can hear Michael talking, demanding to know what the fuck Ryan’s talking about, but it’s all this distant white noise as he starts to shift, change. Feels his body rearranging itself into a familiar form and the burning pain drowning anything else out.

It’s different this time, flows smoother, but that could be because Ryan’s giving himself over to that pull in the back of his head far more readily than he has before.

He’s trapped in this little horror dungeon on two legs, metal chaining him down, but on four?

Fast and agile and built-in weapons at his disposal.

Ryan carefully picks his way clear of his clothes left behind in an untidy pile.

The corner where Michael is chained up is silent, and Ryan imagines the air is thick with the things he isn’t saying, feels it weighing down on him as he gives himself a shake. Flashes his claws once, twice, the way he’d check his weapons before going into a fight.

When he finally has the courage to look at Michael - 

“Oh, you _fucker_.”

Michael’s scowling at him, but it’s not - 

Okay, yes, it is angry, just not.

Not disgusted or afraid or any of the things Ryan imagined would be there.

There’s recognition, and Ryan supposes there would be given their past run-ins, and this look in Michael’s eyes he can’t quite decipher.

Hesitant, cautious, Ryan moves over to Michael. Steps deliberately within his reach and waits.

Michael stares down at him, so much bigger, stronger, than Ryan at the moment, and sighs as he sinks to his knees to get a better look at Ryan.

Eyes roving over his body, pausing over the patch of white on his shoulder where he was shot months ago. Long before he joined the crew proper, hired on for a job that went south and Michael there to patch him up in a little safehouse afterwards.

“I hope you know this explains absolutely nothing,” Michael says, shaky laugh leaving him. “Like what the fuck Ryan?”

Ryan doesn’t have answers, not now. 

Later, perhaps.

For the time being he pushes into Michael’s space, lets out a rumbling purr when he doesn’t shy away from him, and gently presses his head against Michael’s chest.

“Fucking,” Michael says, hands hovering over Ryan. “I fucking hate cats you know.”

Ryan bumps his head against Michael’s chest and smiles to himself at the huff of amusement it gets from him, and steps back. 

Michael sighs, corner of his mouth ticking up.

“Gavin’s going to lose his mind when he finds out.”

Understatement, really.

Ryan shakes himself before turning and squeezing through the opening of the vent. 

=========

Ryan’s first priority is freeing Michael, which means tracking down the guards with the keys to their dungeon cell.

He’s small and fast and it’s almost painfully easy to do. Slipping from shadow to shadow, small and fast and even if they do spot they’ll think a stray got in somehow. One of the broken windows he saw on their way in, or a door left open unattended. 

He’s near-silent as he stalks the one with a thing for knives if the little bandoleer of throwing knives and various others hidden on him are any indication. Scars on his arms and slight limp and stinking of old beer and stale cigarettes.

Keys tucked in his back pocket, bright metal peeking out and Ryan takes his chance, scurries out of his hiding and rushes him. His claws rake the back of the man’s leg, scent of blood hitting his nose the same moment he feels it against his skin and he uses the distraction to snatch the keys out of his pocket, knowing it will go unnoticed for now.

He hears pounding feet, knows it’s the other gang members alerted by the man’s yells, and he’s running, running, _running_. 

Fast and nimble, avoiding grabbing hands and heavy boots aiming for his ribs as he skitters past alerted guards.

Squeezes back into the vents to lose them and makes his way to Michel knowing they’re going to be busy for a while trying to find the stray that got inside.

Before he reaches their cell, Ryan changes back - gasping sharply when the pain recedes and he feels cold air against his naked skin – and then he’s moving again. Single-minded determination as he creeps up on the lone guard outside the cell on silent feet and the crack of his neck breaking seems obscenely loud to his heightened senses.

He drops the body and unlocks the door, opening it to reveal Michael waiting, eyes narrowing as he takes in the look on Ryan’s face. 

“What?”

Ryan opens his mouth but can’t seem to find word, the change having such a strong grip on him with everything so sharp in focus and he shrugs. Steps back to let Michael past and waits as he takes the downed gang member’s gun and pockets spare ammo. 

“You gonna stay like that, or...”

Words still won’t work for him, so Ryan mimes the two of them splitting up to look for Gavin to cover ground faster.

Michael eyes him oddly, and offers Ryan the dead gang members backup. 

“No,” Ryan manages, like it’s been months since he’s spoken. “I’m good.”

He grins, knowing his teeth are still sharper than they should be in this form, and sees Michael's eyes widen slightly in realization.

“Shit. Okay, yeah. But - “

“They won’t see me coming,” Ryan says, the words still feeling wrong in his mouth, but he doesn’t have time to think about that.

Michael still looks skeptical, but defers to Ryan, tucking the little revolver in his waistband.

Hesitates, an odd look on his face before he lurches forward to grip Ryan’s shoulder.

“Fucking be careful, asshole,” he hisses, tinge of red high on his cheek as he shoves past Ryan towards the stairs muttering to himself under his breath.

========

Ryan’s never changed like this before. Sliding between forms in the blink of an eye, shifting from two feet to four to as the situation changes.

Slashing at hamstrings and sliding between his victim’s legs before they fall, only to whip around and lunge at them with human hands, sticking at their throat, and bearing them down under his weight and back again in the same breath. 

It’s wreaking havoc on his body, pulse too fast, heart pounding in his chest and the constant burning through his veins, ache in his bones, but he keeps moving. 

Fast and nimble on four feet and he’s terrifying on two. Cutting down gang members as he happens across them, quick and savage and no mercy left in him for them. 

Some part of him aware that they’re panicking, caught between him and Michael and there’s this vicious satisfaction at the thought because they brought this on themselves. (Should have known better, and now look where it’s gotten them.)

He runs back into Michael several floors up, bodies behind them and no regrets and there’s a locked door in front of them with an electronic lock and no keys to be found.

Michael’s a disaster, liberally covered in blood. His or someone else’s, there’s no telling anymore. Just a cold, hard determination.

He looks at the door, faint voices behind it - _Gavin_ \- and back to Ryan.

Tired and aching from the multiple changes, a kick that managed to land and other small injuries he’s lost count of, and so, so close.

“Need a boost?” Michael asks, because there’s another vent up high. Cover removed for repairs that never seemed to happen.

Ryan can reach it with a running leap, claws scrabbling at the wall before he pulls himself up, but - 

He tips his head to the side and meows, and Michael grins. Careful as he picks Ryan up, hand smoothing over his ears, trailing along Ryan’s back before lifting him up

A quick jump and Ryan’s inside, looks back at Michael before heading deeper.

The vent narrows a few feet in, Ryan crouching as he squeezes through. Sharp edges pulling out fur as he pushes through, pinpricks of bright pain and then he’s looking down at the room Gavin’s being held in.

A pair of enforcers and the apparent leader of the gang.

Gavin in front of a computer and multiple screens showing security feeds of the building. Cycling through to show narrow corridors and empty rooms and unmoving bodies. 

Michael outside the doors, sneering up at the camera before there’s a gunshot and the screen turns to static.

“Fuck,” one of the enforcers mutters, eyes wide as he looks to his boss. “The fuck is was that?”

Fear and panic, but something deeper to it and Ryan realizes with a sickening lurch they must have seen _him_. 

_Gavin’s_ seen him.

“That thing - “the second enforcer cuts in, only to be interrupted by the first, voices melding into a low buzz as Ryan looks to Gavin.

Expression so very neutral, hands resting on the keyboard in front of him, heartbeat racing with the gang’s leader standing at his shoulder.

Hand shaking as he raises his gun, points it at Gavin.

“The fuck is that thing?”

Gavin shakes his head, hands coming up. Makes himself small, vulnerable. 

Not a target, not a threat. 

“I don’t - “

The gang leader snarls, flips his hold on his gun and smacks it hard against Gavin’s cheek. The blow knocking him from the chair, hand going to his cheek, blood slipping through his fingers as he stares up at the fucker standing over him.

And Ryan - 

Outnumbered and outmatched, but there's a burning anger in his chest and some stupid bastard with a gun on Gavin.

He snarls, the sound ripping out of him from deep in his chest and the metal vent around him amplifies the sound. Turns it into something larger than one small part-time cat, bumbling idiot on two legs.

Ryan sees Gavin’s eyes flicker up to he vent Ryan’s crouched in before he reaches behind him and slaps at the keyboard.

Gavin knew they’d come for him. Planned accordingly and the lights cut out, sound of the electronic lock on the doors unlocking. Some preset command or sheer luck it doesn’t matter because Ryan has his opportunity and _moves_.

Sleek black fur streaking through the inky darkness, claws flashing out as he aims for the gang’s leader. Buzz cut and the stench of old fear about him layered under cheap cologne and alcohol.

Ryan’s fangs sink in deep, drawing a scream of wild terror from the stupid bastard as Ryan kicks his back legs, claws tearing into skin and flesh and forces him to drop the gun. Twisting and writhing as Ryan kicks off and drops low. Blood on his claws, streaked through his fur as he races towards the enforcers.

He hears noise behind him, voices and a gun firing but his attention is on the men searching for him. Faith in Gavin, Michael, and a job to finish.

His claws aren’t quite strong enough to sever a human’s hamstring, but they cut deep. Go through flesh and muscle, more than capable of dropping an adult. Leave them writhing and vulnerable to follow up attacks.

He gets the first enforcer, has him on the ground when the second rallies. Swinging wildly, and lands a lucky hit. Pain flaring in Ryan’s side, pulling a cry of pain from him as he scrambles away, panting for breath. Darts for an overturned armchair and crouches low, belly to the ground.

The second enforcer is snarling threats, firing randomly into the darkness and Ryan slinks around the edge of the chair he’s using as cover. Feels his lips peels away from his teeth, low growl, and he jumps.

The lights snap back on mid-leap, long enough for the enforcer to bring his gun to bear on Ryan, but a cat’s so much faster than a human any day. He ducks back, twisting jump to the side and keeps moving. Manages to hit the enforcer's arms, claws digging in as he scrambles for purchase, slicing through vulnerable skin and flesh.

The enforcer finally manages to grab him, and yanks Ryan fee, flinging him away from him.

Ryan lands hard, dazed and unable to move, body aching as the enforcer moves towards him. He tries to get up, to move, but his body isn’t responding, isn’t obeying him, pain singing through him.

He watches the enforcer raise his gun as though in slow motion. Sees the sick grin on his face, eyes wild and -

“Hey, asshole!”

The enforcer turns, and Michael fires.

Aim true, the enforcer falls, blood blooming across his chest.

Ryan stares at the body, looks up when he hears footsteps and sees Michael moving towards him. Slow, halting, and Gavin trailing behind.

“Jesus, Ryan,” Michael says, and he looks young. Scared. “You’re a fucking mess.”

Ryan _feels_ broken.

Drained, aching, ribs screaming with each breath. He’s bleeding, feels blood soaking into his fur. Everything hurts and he just wants to sleep, rest.

Gavin’s watching him with wide eyes as he kneels down beside him, hands gentle. Touch light, careful as he brushes Ryan’s cheek. 

“Oh, Ryan,” he murmurs.

Ryan meows quietly, this ragged little noise and bats at Gavin’s hand. 

“You stupid bastard,” Gavin says, sputtering little laugh as he takes the jacket Michael’s holding out to him and carefully gathers Ryan up in it. 

Ryan snorts, ears flattening against his skull at that. 

Broken but not done, after all.

“Christ, come on. We need to get him to a vet or something,” Michael says, peering at Ryan, worry clear on his face. “Think he’s up to date on his shots?”

Gavin splutters, caught somewhere between admonishing Michael and trying not to laugh, and Ryan hisses at him, not amused in the slightest.

========

They actually do take him to a vet. Gavin calls Geoff and the others to let them know what happened, deliberately leaving out certain details, while Michael drives them to a damn vet he met a while back who won’t ask questions. 

“She’s patched me up before,” he says with a little shrug. “Figure it can’t hurt, right?”

It’s a small emergency clinic, run by a woman with sharp eyes and a soothing voice. She doesn’t seem to miss much, eyes pinging between the three of them before she sighs and leads the way to the operating room in the back of the clinic.

She puts Michael and Gavin to work fetching supplies and keeping them busy, hard look in her eyes softening as they obey without question.

Well.

Almost, without question, because Michael - 

“Fucking hell, Lindsay, watch it with those things.”

Lindsay pins Michael with a narrow-eyed look and clicks the scissors she’s using to cut bandages at Michael in warning.

“My clinic, my way,” she says, bright and cheery and borderline psychotic. “You got a problem with the way I do things here, you can get the fuck out.”

Michael stares at her for a long moment, looking like he’s thinking about going toe-to-toe with her, and then he snorts.

“Crazy bitch,” he mutters, nothing but fondness in it as he takes more care to keep his fingers away from the tools in her hand.

Lindsay insists on taking x-rays after they give her an edited version of events. Based on her reaction, Ryan has the sneaking suspicion she’s not buying any of it, but doesn’t press.

“Better safe than sorry,” she says, gaze flitting between Michael and Gavin pointedly, but neither of them rise to the bait.

“Some of his ribs are fractured,” she says, pointing to his x-rays. “They’ll heal, but it’s not going to be fun for anyone. Expect him to be a bit on the cranky side until he’s healed.”

Gavin’s huffs out a laugh at that and gives Ryan a look which he pointedly ignores because he’s a goddamned delight.

He heals faster than normal humans do. As much as it would hurt with his current injuries, changing forms helps to accelerate the healing process. If Ryan wasn’t so drained he would have changed by now.

Lindsay flashes Gavin a smile and sets about treating Ryan’s injuries under Michael and Gavin’s watchful eyes. She has to shave a section of his fur for stitches that are going to be a pain to deal with when he shifts, and when she’s done brings out a _cone_.

Big, wide plastic thing to keep animals from messing with the stitches while they heal and it’s a struggle not to growl because up until this moment she hasn’t deserved that.

“Uh,” Michael says, watching the way Ryan’s ears have gone back at the sight of the damn thing. “I think he’ll be fine without it.”

Lindsay frowns.

“I don’t think you understand - “

“No cone,” Michael interrupts, looking like he can’t believe he’s having this conversation, and yet here he is. “We’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Okay,” Lindsay says slowly. “I’d suggest getting him a onesie, but that would irritate the stitches.”

Michael’s eyebrows hit his hairline at that one, and Ryan hisses as he sees the amusement in his eyes when they meet his.

“Ah, yeah, no,” he says, laughter in his voice. “No onesie for the cat, got it.”

Lindsay looks confused, but doesn’t question it as she finishes up, and then turns to Michael and Gavin, eyeing them critically.

“What?”

Lindsay ignores Michael’s curt tone and gestures for Gavin to hop up on the table beside Ryan.

“You look like shittier than Michael does so you get to go first,” she says, snapping on a new pair of gloves with a glint in her eyes that Gavin’s smart enough not to question.

========

With the cops still on high alert after the heist Geoff sends them to a safehouse at the edge of the city.

Tiny, cramped, but stocked with medical supplies spare clothes. Someone’s been by recently because there’s food in the fridge. More than just canned food or box mixes.

Gavin sets Ryan down on the bed and carefully lays down beside him, hissing quietly as he arranges himself as comfortably as possible while Michael insists on keeping watch.

Given recent events, Gavin only puts up a token protest knowing he won’t win this round, but unable to just let it go when they’re all exhausted.

“Not the best day, then, yeah?” 

Ryan makes an inquisitive noise, batting gently at Gavin’s face.

Gavin makes a face, turning his head to look at Ryan. There’s a quiet sort of awe in his eyes as he looks at him, this little half-smile playing on his lips.

“Always thought there was something about you,” he says, but it’s not mean, cruel. Just. Fondly amused. “Never would have imagined this, though.”

He reaches out tentatively, eyes on Ryan’s. 

“Can I?” he asks, familiar light in his eyes that has Ryan chuffing with amusement because it’s Gavin presented with a cat, even if it he is only a part-time one.

Ryan wriggles closer to Gavin and bumps his head against his hand, chirruping at him when he hesitates because this - 

It’s different here in the safehouse. Still rattled after everything that’s happened and in an unfamiliar place where the usual rules don’t apply. No questions, explanations, just this, and Ryan lets himself have it while he can.

Gavin’s smile when Ryan starts purring is pure delight, and Ryan uses the warmth of it to ease the ache in his chest because he knows this can’t last.

========

Ryan slips out after Gavin's fallen asleep, goes looking for a set of clothes so he can change, plan his next move.

He finds a pair of sweats in his size, some sports team logo on the shirt he doesn’t recognize, but it’s not like he can be picky, so.

The change hurts worse than he was expecting it to, stitches tearing and ribs screaming and he latches on to the familiar burn through his veins to ground him. When he comes back to himself he can feel blood sliding down his skin, and looks down to see a cut on his leg.

Ugly and sure to scar, but it’s not going to kill him. 

He grabs the medical kit and patches himself up, foregoing stitches for the moment. The sweats are new, soft against his skin, and he revels in the sensation before he reaches for the shoes.

There’s a stash of cash here, he can take some of it to get him to one of the caches he keeps around the city. Public locker under a fake name and -

“The fuck do you think you’re going?”

Until now, Ryan had thought he’d been lucky to avoid Michael. Sneaking past him and so careful not to make any noise, but Michael’s not an idiot. Has been at this for a long, long time now.

“Michael - “

“No, fuck you, Ryan. Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

There’s genuine anger in his voice, and Ryan doesn’t know what to do with it. Doesn’t know what to say because this was supposed to be the smart thing. Get out before it’s too late, before Michael and Gavin have had time to process what they saw. Realize what a freak Ryan is.

Michael laughs, quiet and bitter as he runs a hand over his face.

“You were just going to leave, weren’t you?”

Ryan doesn’t answer. 

“Fuck, that’s just – fucking great,” Michael says, and moves away from the door, giving Ryan the room to leave. “Gav said you would, you know?”

The words pull Ryan back around, because Michael - 

He sounds so resigned. 

“Asshole said you’d leave. Said we should let you if that’s what you wanted.”

It’s not. It’s not that simple, so clear-cut, because Ryan.

He’s told people before, _shown_ them, and it’s never gone well. Had seemed like it might, but over time things had turned ugly, messy, and Ryan’s got the scars to show for it. Wanted to leave before things turned out like that here too. 

Old habits and older fears he can never fully shake, they’re so deeply ingrained in him now.

“Just - “Michael swallows, dropping his eyes from Ryan’s. “Be careful, asshole.”

Ryan’s chest aches, just one more regret to carry with him as he leaves the safehouse and its occupants behind.

========

When Ryan leaves Los Santos, he doesn’t have plans to come back.

There are plenty of bounties out there for him to chase down, room to run outside the towering skyscrapers and busy streets.

It keeps him busy for a few months, hopping from city to city and the quiet stretches in between. 

He’s tired and aching, arm in a sling because his latest bounty was a clever little bastard, led him a merry little chase until Ryan finally caught him and delivered him to the crew who’d set the bounty on him. 

Something to do with a double-cross and Ryan hadn’t asked for further details because it wasn’t his business, but it leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth and he gets in his car and drives without a destination in mind.

Ryan ends up in the desert a hundred miles outside Los Santos, give or take. Clear skies and the night sky spread out above him. Whole galaxies shining down, big and beautiful to remind him he’s just a speck of dust in comparison.

His pull on the universe small and inconsequential, that it won’t keep it from moving along with or without him. It’s an oddly reassuring thought, knowing that whatever he does the universe will keep going.

Helps him put the chaos of his thoughts into some semblance of order, remind him why he’s stayed close to Los Santos all this time.

There were a few jobs that had him heading down to Mexico or across the county, but he always ended up close to the city eventually. Slow orbit, and the thought makes him smile as he stares up at the stars, tangled knot in his chest starting to loosen as he thinks about his choices these past few months, dredges up the last of his courage. 

Old habits and older fears, and something’s got to give sooner or later, so why not now?

========

The moon sits full and heavy in the sky when Ryan makes it back to Los Santos. Pull at the back of his mind and an itch under his skin that has him shifting from two feet to four without conscious thought. 

Gives in to the ache in his chest that hasn’t gone away in all this time.

The penthouse’s security hasn’t changed much in the time Ryan’s been gone. There are a few more hoops to jump through, but who thinks to account for something like a cat? (Part-time or otherwise?)

It’s quiet, and for a moment Ryan thinks everyone's out for the night – but then his ears pick up the sound of voices coming from the living room. Explosions and yelling and realizes it’s a movie, some cookie-cutter summer blockbuster going by the sound of things.

He takes a step towards the living room and hands close around him, grip firm enough that he can’t wriggle free easily.

“Well, well, well,” Michael drawls, cautious note to his voice. “What do we have here?”

Ryan looks up, and meets Michael’s eyes.

Sees the wariness there, old hurt buried under it. Faint amusement at the way Ryan dangles in his hold.

“Fucking cat burglar, huh?” Michael says, because he’s an asshole, and Ryan feels completely justified when he presses a paw against his mouth, ears flattening.

Michael snorts, pulling his head back to study Ryan.

More scars to him, faint lines of white marking his fur and he knows Michael sees them with the way his eyes narrow, adjusts his grip until he’s holding Ryan against his chest.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up like this,” Michael says, rapping the top of Ryan's head with his knuckles, but it’s not angry, really.

Ryan tips his head to look up at Michael and finds him looking down a him, expression unreadable.

“Yeah,” Michael sighs, and carries Ryan to the living room where a movie is playing on the television, a pile of blankets and pillows and Gavin on the couch in front of it. “Idiot’s sick, so don’t be a dick.”

Michael looks at Ryan, eyebrows going up and Ryan hops down. Moves silently across the room, until he reaches the couch and it’s just a little hop to get him up onto the seat cushions. There are bits of popcorn and other snacks littering his path, but eventually he reaches Gavin’s little cocoon, and hesitates.

Looking up, he can see Michael standing behind the couch watching with an unimpressed look on his face, and Ryan - 

He hadn’t really planned much past coming back here. Hadn’t planned anything really, after he crossed the city line. 

Just answered the tug that had drawn him back to Los Santos without thought, and now - 

It’s easier like this, no words to get in the way, but it’s a cheat, too, but it’s all Ryan has at the moment, earlier courage used up and only this left to offer.

Ryan meows.

Quiet, questioning, and he sees the blankets move, sees Gavin looking out at him, eyes wide.

“Ryan?” he asks, sounding like he thinks he’s imagining things. Sits up suddenly. “ _Ryan_?”

Ryan meows again, moving closer when Gavin reaches out a hand toward him like he thinks Ryan will vanish if he touches him.

His eyes close when he feels Gavin’s hand on his head, light, tentative.

Gavin laughs, raspy and a little broken and Ryan leans into his touch, feels himself start to purr.

This.

There will be words later, explanations and the rest, but for now - 

“Caught him trying to sneak in,” Michael says, and Ryan opens his eyes to watch him as he comes around the end of the couch to sit beside Gavin.

There’s a thoughtful look on Michael’s face, but he smiles when he realizes Ryan’s watching him.

“Stupid bastard,” he mutters, grinning when Gavin elbows him. Sharp bony thing, Ryan knows from experience, and he can feel himself relax as the two of them bicker.

Inches closer until he’s across both their laps, rumbling purr filling the air as Michael scratches under his chin, just right, and Gavin strokes a hand down his back.

\- For now this is good, and if Ryan’s lucky he gets to keep this.


End file.
